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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29831967">In The Village</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylB/pseuds/DynamicDuo'>DynamicDuo (XylB)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>'Cause Your Heart Can't Take It [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bruce is a good dad their relationship is just complicated, Coming Out, Deadnaming + Misgendering, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Trans Male Character, Transitioning, fuck I forgot to tag very background Jason/Roy too, out of ignorance NOT transphobia, very background Dick/Wally</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:14:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,852</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29831967</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylB/pseuds/DynamicDuo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Dick wishes he wasn't Bruce's son. Sometimes he wishes he was Robin and a Titan and just Batman's partner rather than his kid. It'd make his life a whole hell of a lot easier, and it'd make coming out to him much less risky. </p><p>Or, the fic where Dick is trans, but there's a difference between him and other people's kids, and he doesn't know where Bruce falls on the sliding scale of acceptance.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dick Grayson &amp; Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>'Cause Your Heart Can't Take It [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2193120</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>97</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>In The Village</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Dick is deadnamed in this, but only by people he's still closeted to. Otherwise, there's no room for transphobia in <em>my</em> canon! </p><p>Title from "The Village" by Wrabel. Series title is a bastardised lyric from the same song.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's a Monday in June, Dick's out of school, and the TV is showing live footage of the Gotham City Pride parade marching down the middle of the city. He watches with mild interest he tries to play off as only passing, eyeing up the rainbow and pastel flags flying high on their way by WE and feeling distinctly jealous of everyone there. He could <em>go</em>, he knows, and Bruce would never know it, but he feels that somehow he'd get found out, or he'd be just unlucky enough to get caught for a spontaneous camera interview, and he's not sure how he could live down Bruce finding out like <em>that</em>. Or maybe Bruce wouldn't recognise the flag. </p><p>Or maybe he would. Dick watches him out of the corner of his eye as Bruce watches the TV, easily channeling his attention between that and the news feeds on his phone. He's dressed up in his business suit, as if about to head to work, but Dick knows full well he granted all of WE this Monday off for Pride. </p><p>"I daresay it might be worth trying to get in as Batman," Alfred comments from the other side of the table, idly watching the TV. </p><p>"Just go in the back," Dick says. "They might not see you." </p><p>"They might not," Bruce allows, "but if they catch even a whiff of Bruce Wayne, they'll pounce on me for an interview about my 'sizeable donation'." He makes air quotes around the words, pulling a grimace to imitate the nasal reporter voice. </p><p>"So what?" Dick crosses his legs and spears a melon cube on his fork. "Just say no comment or whatever." </p><p>"I don't want to take away attention from where it's needed just to grab research files," Bruce answers calmly. He glances at Alfred. "Batman will also attract too many eyes." The focus is on the people, the movement, yada yada blah blah, Dick's heard it before. Bruce is a hearty and generous supporter of LGBT+ causes, always quietly funding charities and movements and openly, vocally, publicly, <em>vibrantly</em> supportive. </p><p>It's great. It's fantastic, it's positive, it's progressive, and on paper, it's perfect, except...Dick doesn't know if that extends to home. He side-eyes Bruce watching the TV, but as ever, he can't find any hints of what Bruce might be thinking about the people on camera. Probably supports them. But Dick has no idea how he'd react when it's his own son. </p><p>"Em, you going to the Tower today?" </p><p>Dick sighs. And that's the problem. Bruce doesn't even know he <em>has</em> a son. </p><p>"I don't know," he mumbles, dropping his chin into his palm. "Prolly." </p><p>"Well, I imagine Gotham will be pretty lively until tomorrow, so you're welcome to stay over," Bruce adds, trading a look with Alfred across the table. "I'll handle patrol tonight." Like he does every Pride. Dick's not stupid.</p><p>Although he is grateful that Bruce tries to keep him away from it. </p><p>"Yeah, okay," he agrees. Bruce smiles warmly at him and leans over to pull on his ponytail. When he was younger, it would make Dick laugh and bat him away, but now all he can muster is a slight smile and a half-hearted attempt to pull away. </p><p>He feels bad for pulling away from Bruce like this, but it's better than the unknown alternative of Bruce disowning him. Either way, Bruce probably chalks it up to teenage rebellion, even though Dick's only fourteen. </p><p>-- </p><p>It's almost hilariously easy to end up passing in his Robin costume. Over the years, he flattens the chest, pads out the sides, loosens the trousers, armours up the shoulders to make himself just a touch broader. The cape helps a lot with obscuring his silhouette, and the squarer domino doesn't frame his cheekbones nearly as much. </p><p>He finally gets his hair cut, too. It's a haphazard affair in the basement of Titans Tower, originally organised on the spot at Roy's spur-of-the-moment decision to see what he looks like with shorter hair, only for Dick to tag in on that as well, which ends up with him sitting cross-legged on the floor, magazine cuttings spread out in front of them. </p><p>"I think I could pull it off," Roy says, thumbing a second piece of chewing gum into his mouth. </p><p>"You can<em>not</em> pull off Brad Pitt," Lilith rebuts, shooting him a look over her freshly painted nails. </p><p>"C'mon, like mid-90s Pitt? I totally could." </p><p>Dick glances down at the magazine cuttings - one is a spread of the Ocean's Eleven cast, with younger photos of the cast displayed beside their characters. It's hard to picture any of their haircuts on himself, either too long or too short or just too <em>old</em>. But then again, he doesn't want to end up with the professional swoop that Bruce has. </p><p>"I don't think you can pass for Tyler Durden," Wally comments, stretched out opposite them with his hands braced behind him and ankles crossed. Barry took him along to a barber when he came out, so his hair is expertly trimmed on the sides and back, with the top just long enough to fall into his eyes. Dick's honestly a little jealous of it, although Alfred will probably insist he gets at least a touch-up after the disaster Donna will wreak on his hair. </p><p>"I'm not tryna go for Fight Club," Roy replies, then leans over to ruffle Dick's hair with a grin. "You could, though." </p><p>"I'm <em>not</em> getting a Durden cut." Dick bats his hand away with a laugh and tucks his hair behind his ear. "It'd look terrible." </p><p>"Nah, it'd look good on you, dude." Roy runs a hand through his own shaggy hair, just barely brushing the collar of his shirt. "You could totally rock longer hair." </p><p>Dick frowns. It looks good on Roy, but on <em>him</em> it'd just look like a bob, and he doesn't quite know how to verbalise that without insulting himself, so he doesn't. He'd come out to the Titans shortly after Wally, but his social transition is...significantly slowed down by the sludge of high school and working with Batman and living with Bruce. </p><p>"I want something shorter," he says, turning back to the cuttings to flip through them. "What about Matt Damon?" </p><p>"Too spiky," Donna says from behind them, snapping the scissors open and shut. </p><p>"If anyone could make it work, it's probably you," Roy says, also leaning over to peruse Dick's pages. "Well, you and Orlando Bloom." </p><p>"Of <em>course</em> you think Orlando could pull it off," Wally teases, rolling his eyes. </p><p>"Don't worry, we all know about your giant crush on him," Donna comments dryly, gathering Dick's ponytail up in a careful fist. </p><p>"It's not <em>giant</em>," Roy insists, tilting his head back to grin up at her. "Garth's got it worse for Keira Knightley." </p><p>"Hey, shut <em>up</em>." Garth launches one of Lilith's nail polish bottles at Roy's head - Roy catches it easily, laughing hard enough to double over as the rest of them collapse into giggles. </p><p>When they recover, with Garth resuming his quiet painting of Lilith's toes and Roy sliding aside discarded magazine pages, Donna gently tugs on Dick's hair to get his attention. </p><p>"Dick, I'm gonna cut the length off, okay? And then we'll go from there."</p><p>"Yeah, sounds awesome," he says, straightening up to give her a better angle. His stomach flutters with a mix of nerves and excitement, something he tries to dampen by meeting Wally's eyes across the cuttings. Wally gives him a tiny, encouraging nod with a quiet, understanding smile tugging at his lips. </p><p>"Last chance to back out," Donna teases, and slides the scissors around the loose ponytail pooled in her fist. </p><p>"Go for it." </p><p>It's helped a <em>lot</em>, nice and short and delightfully masculine. He doesn't miss the tickle against his neck in the slightest, and the next day, Alfred and Bruce take the surprise more gracefully than he expected, with quiet acceptance and <em>it's your hair, cut it how you like</em> tempered with <em>well, maybe you should go to the hairdresser to even up the back</em>. </p><p>"Good work out there, Em," Bruce says, offering up a high-five as Dick walks by the desk. It's something he picked up from Green Lantern, which normally would amuse Dick, but he spent all of patrol responding to <em>Robin</em>, not <em>Em</em>, that hearing it instantly sours his mood. </p><p>"Yeah, whatever," Dick murmurs, and doesn't high-five him. </p><p>Dick doesn't really <em>mean</em> to shoulder-check Bruce, but he does on his way by, and Bruce makes a confused noise in the back of his throat. A hand lands on Dick's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. </p><p>"Sweetie, what's wrong?" Bruce asks. </p><p>"Nothing," Dick grunts, and twists out of Bruce's hold to stalk past him. Bruce gently touches his arm to silently ask him to stop, but doesn't grab him. </p><p>Dick halts reluctantly. </p><p>"What?" He doesn't try to snap it, but comes out blunter than intended anyway, and he just wants to fucking shower and takes off the costume and curl up with the Titans group chat, where they know his name is <em>Dick</em> and not to call him <em>sweetie</em>. </p><p>"Did something happen?" Bruce asks, so sincerely it breaks Dick's heart. </p><p>"Nothing happened," Dick replies. </p><p>Bruce sighs. "Look, I understand it's a normal to hate me at your age, but if there's anything going on - " </p><p>"Fuck's sake, there's nothing <em>going on</em>," Dick snaps, turning around to glare at Bruce. Bruce blinks once, taken aback, but doesn't warn Dick on the language. </p><p>Dick drops his gaze a moment later, staring steadfastly at the floor. </p><p>"I don't hate you," he mumbles, barely comprehensible over the thickness in his voice and frustrated lump in his throat. </p><p>"You know I love you, right, Em?" Bruce says. "You can tell me anything." </p><p>"There's nothing to tell," Dick lies, sour all over again at his nickname. "Can I go shower now?" </p><p>Bruce looks at him for a long moment and then exhales through his mouth. "Yes, of course." </p><p>Dick hates himself as he storms to the locker room to change and shower. He hates arguing with Bruce, and he hates making him look like that, and he hates Bruce blaming himself for something he can't fucking change. </p><p>This time Bruce must <em>really</em> suspect it's teenage rebellion, and Dick doesn't know how to voice that it <em>isn't</em>, that he doesn't hate Bruce, that it's just - he's just <em>awkward</em>, and he's trans, and he doesn't know how Bruce will take it, and it's better to keep his distance rather than get too comfortable and let it slip and get hurt in the worst way. He hates it. He hates arguing with Bruce. </p><p>He thought it might be better once Wally came out last year, but if Bruce has any negative opinions on it, he hasn't said so. Dick doesn't know if it's from genuine decency or the fact that Barry would kill anyone who doesn't accept Wally in a heartbeat. </p><p>Or maybe it's just because Wally isn't <em>Bruce's</em> kid. There's something different about <em>other people's</em> kids that Dick wishes he could put his finger on, wishes he <em>could</em> be someone else's kid just so he wouldn't have to worry about the backlash. </p><p>-- </p><p>It blows up after he turns eighteen. He's been chafing against Bruce's stupid <em>rules</em> for two years now, stifled and struggling with the weight of secrecy and trying to be Bruce's perfect fucking kid, but he can't, he just <em>can't</em>, and it's too much for him to deal with, too suffocating, like dirt trying to claw its way down his throat and twisting all his words into malicious daggers - </p><p>"What has gotten <em>into</em> you?" Bruce asks, cutting neatly through Dick's shouting. "I just said that - " </p><p>"You don't fucking <em>trust</em> me!" Dick yells. </p><p>"<em>Emily</em>, stop shouting," Bruce says firmly, although there's a thin, wavering thread of anger strung through his voice. He's so close to cracking. Dick can needle right in that crack and dig it out of him. </p><p>"All you do is order me around," Dick snarls, knowing full well it's only partially true. "Stop breathing down my damn neck, Bruce." </p><p>"I've tried my best to give you your independence - " </p><p>"Yeah, it doesn't fucking matter." </p><p>"Em, I'm not - " </p><p>"Stop fucking <em>calling</em> me that!" Dick roars, balling his hands up into fists. Bruce's gaze sharpens like ice, a frown twisting the corners of his mouth. </p><p>"Then what <em>should</em> I call you?" He asks coldly. "Miss Grayson? I'm not going to refer to you like you're some <em>stranger</em>, you're my <em>daughter</em>, no matter how much you yell at me." </p><p>"I'm not your fucking - " Dick bites his tongue before he can let <em>daughter</em> slip, raking an angry hand through his hair instead. "I'm not your fucking property, Bruce." </p><p>"I never said you were. I'm just trying to do what's best for you, Em. I love you - " </p><p>Fucking <em>Em</em> again. Fucking - </p><p>"I'm not your fucking daughter!" Dick's breathing comes erratically, forcing air into his lungs and pushing past the tingling shake in his extremities, the panic clawing up his throat and into his head, sinking deep into the pit in his stomach - </p><p>And he thinks he could do it. He could cut all ties right now and just <em>tell</em> Bruce and then leave. He wouldn't even have to see Bruce's reaction. </p><p>He could do it. </p><p>"I tried not to replace your parents," Bruce says softly. So softly that Dick's heart wrenches just a little inside his chest and he abruptly loses all his confidence. All his motivation. All his - he can't back down <em>now</em>, not after the fifth argument this week, and he can't - </p><p>He has to stick with the line he's cast. Otherwise he'll just look stupid and emotional and Bruce might not take him seriously ever again. </p><p>"I'm John and Mary's kid," Dick rasps, pointing to himself. "I'm not yours. I was <em>never</em> yours. You're a fucking horrible dad." He can pinpoint the exact moment Bruce's stern façade shatters, frustration giving way to heartbreak on his face. </p><p>Dick looks away. If he looks now he'll lose his nerve, and he might just crumble, and he so badly wants to, wishes so desperately he could just apologise and sink into Bruce's arms and cry into his chest like he's eight years old all over again and grieving so hard it hurt to even speak. </p><p>But if he gives in now, he'll only open them up both for more hurt. He's already said the worst thing he could. He's already flung his adoption back into Bruce's face. And maybe Bruce will hate him for it. Hopes he will, because then Dick could easily cut his losses and move on. </p><p>He wants Bruce to hate him. Wants him to be so furious that he'll shout and scream at Dick to just <em>go</em> <em>already, you ungrateful little brat!</em></p><p>Bruce doesn't do anything like that. He stands there, looking shell-shocked, and Dick swallows quietly in the deathly silence. </p><p>"I'm moving out," he says. Unclasps the cape at his throat and lets it fall to the floor. "I don't want to be Robin anymore." </p><p>Bruce lets him go. </p><p>-- </p><p>Dick makes his appearances over the years. First thing he does after moving out is redesign his costume, name himself Nightwing, and legally change his name to Richard John Grayson, with Wally's help. </p><p>The costume this time is padded much more masculinely than the Robin suit ever was. He even installs a voice modulator to pitch his voice deeper in the suit. His brief conversations with Bruce and the subsequent Robins reveal that they think it's a smart idea to keep himself anonymous like that, to disguise his voice and silhouette to make him all the more unplaceable as a civilian. </p><p>It's honestly pretty funny that that's the reason they've deduced, because how much more obvious can Dick <em>get</em>? Who else is padding masculine and cutting their hair this short and modding their voice deeper just for civilian cover? </p><p>They don't know about the legal name change, obviously, but still. He feels it should be clear what exactly is going on here. Guesses that people will see what they want to, and it's up to him to decide how much they <em>do</em> get to see, which isn't much at all. </p><p>So the years go by. Jason, then Tim, then Jason again. Dick pops in for his obligatory older brother/first Robin/funeral/reunion meetings, but mostly stays in Blüdhaven as much as he can. Keeps them at a distance, with frequent texts and calls and emails, and does his best to ignore the gnawing ache in the pit of his stomach telling him that he's not good enough for them. </p><p>The Titans progress as they do. Wally gets on speedforce-adjusted testosterone, Garth officially becomes the prince of Atlantis, heir to Arthur, or whatever the wording is. Lilith updates her costume until she ends up cycling back to an adult version of the original. Donna dates Roy, Donna breaks up with Roy, Dick eats a pint of ice cream with him and Wally while he nurses his broken heart. All the achingly normal teenage stuff that Dick missed out on while juggling Robin and school and the Titans. </p><p>Although he can't say he missed much. Roy cries - literally - on his shoulder, Wally wrangles him into bed when he eventually tires himself out, and then they're left with the empty ice cream carton, three sticky spoons, and numerously damp napkins. Instead of cleaning any of it up right then, Wally just sits down beside him and stretches out to continue watching whatever film they were on. Something upbeat and action-y, something with a plot that Dick doesn't remember, and that's where he has his first kiss. Ever. </p><p>"I, uh, haven't ever - " Wally doesn't pull away far, just enough to rest his forehead against Dick's, who wonders idly if Wally can feel the heat coming off his cheeks at this proximity. </p><p>"Me neither." Dick almost breaks into laughter at Wally's quiet breath that puffs out over his lips - still tingling from the kiss, an electric little thrill that makes his stomach flip-flop. </p><p>He knows somewhere, hazily, that this tends to be a high school experience, that <em>dating</em> tends to be a high school experience, that he missed out on all of that while he was busy being closeted. But he can't really bring himself to care about his inexperience when Wally brushes feather-light fingertips over the back of his hand, hesitant, shy, blushing when Dick turns his palm up to hold his hand. </p><p>So. Moving out has, so far, turned out to be the best thing he's ever done. He's twenty years old, he's halfway patched up his relationship with Bruce, he has a couple of younger siblings, and he's starting a hesitant <em>something</em> with the only other guy on the Titans who would fully understand him. </p><p>-- </p><p>Getting HRT is a harsh trade to make. Dick loves his family, and he loves being able to visit them, but...he loves himself more. And it's not worth carrying this around if he'll just be miserable 90% of the time. Getting the first shot feels a lot like cutting ties in some small, sad way, and the guilty reckoning that comes with sorting out how he's now going to cut out any physical appearances. </p><p>It's worth it. He knows that. But going on T also means he can no longer drop by Gotham in <em>person</em>, and he can't attend League meetings that Bruce goes to, which is most of them, and - and a whole laundry list of experiences he can no longer have. </p><p>It's a good thing, really, that most of the superhero community already knows. It had been easy to branch out over the last couple of years, to extend naturally from the circle of the Titans to their mentors, then to <em>their</em> friends, and right around to the rest of the League, with strict instructions not to tell Bruce. <em>I'm sure he'd support you</em>, Clark had said, one of those strong, unyielding hands on Dick's shoulder, smiling at him like nothing had changed between them after Dick's confession. </p><p>Which, he supposes, nothing <em>had</em>. It just felt different now. Better. Like he’s actually <em>known</em>. </p><p>And so far, no one's had any problems. No one's slipped up with his name, no one's slipped up with his pronouns, and no one's told the Bats. </p><p>Ironically enough, once he finally manages to get on T, he has to wrangle together voice mods for the <em>other</em> direction. He installs one in his phone to pitch his voice higher, more feminine, whenever one of his family calls, and disables it for most other contacts. </p><p>Well, most of his family. </p><p>"I have to say, I wasn't expecting a call from you at this hour, my boy," Alfred says, his voice too-close in the way that means he's tucked the phone between his shoulder and cheek to do something else. </p><p>"I always got time for you, Alfred," Dick replies, leaning back in his chair. "Happy birthday." </p><p>"Thank you." </p><p>"Sorry I couldn't...make it." </p><p>"Please, never apologise for that." Alfred's voice adjusts to more normal levels with a rustle. "But it's good to hear from you, Dick." </p><p>It was hard to come out to Alfred. Dick didn't know whether to expect stubborn refusal, quiet disapproval, or maybe, just maybe, wholehearted acceptance. It wasn't something he allowed himself to hope, though, when he tucked into his childhood bedroom with Alfred and asked if he could talk to him about something. </p><p>Normally, Dick doesn't like to cry, but it felt good then, a surge of relief and gratitude sinking through the worn fabric on Alfred's shoulder as he tried to mumble his worries through hiccups. Alfred had just cupped his head, murmured that he didn't need to explain, followed it up with an impossibly fond <em>I've always loved you, you know that</em>, which only made Dick cry harder. </p><p>Alfred taking it in stride buoys Dick a little. If Alfred accepts it, then surely Bruce would too, right? And he's gotten better with teenagers in the days since Dick, and he navigates Tim better than he did Dick, or Jason, despite the debilitating grief that kept them all in the manor for the months after Jason's death. </p><p>And...Dick doesn't know how to broach the topic. He's still Bruce's first kid. He's still <em>Bruce's</em> kid, not other people's. Jason and Tim have made mistakes that Dick would never have gotten away with, and he wonders if maybe Bruce would count this among them. </p><p>"You make it sound like I don't call you every week," Dick jokes, pushing off the wall to spin in his chair. "Did my gift arrive?" </p><p>"Bruce has told me it has. I'm not allowed to know what it is until later today." </p><p>"You could open it now." Dick smiles at Alfred's little chuckle. "I won't tell." </p><p>"I think somehow, he'd know." </p><p>"Nah, he's not Superman." </p><p>"That he isn't, which is why he's currently not on patrol. My chances of getting downstairs are slim." </p><p>"Broken arm still bothering him?" </p><p>"Stubborn father still bothering him." Alfred's smile is audible, and Dick laughs brightly at it. </p><p>"Then let me be the stubborn grandson bothering <em>you</em> to go to bed. You're off-duty tonight, c'mon, live a little." </p><p>"I suppose if you're twisting my arm." </p><p>"I'm twisting it 180 degrees." </p><p>Alfred laughs, a happy, quiet sound that warms Dick all the way through. </p><p>"Then goodnight, dear boy," Alfred replies, and Dick hums in acknowledgement. </p><p>"'Night, Alfred." </p><p>"Dick, before you go." </p><p>"Hm?" </p><p>"How did you know when I was born?" </p><p>Dick grins to himself, turning to look at the 4:31 a.m. circled on the Post-It on his computer, right next to where the real time clock blinks just a couple minutes later. </p><p>"A magician never reveals his secrets," he says, and cracks up all over again at Alfred's put-upon sigh. </p><p>-- </p><p>Even in their mid-twenties and scattered across the cosmos, the Titans still organise a meet-up every Friday. It's a gamble on who can make it some days, but most of the time, they manage to carve out an evening just for them, just for the sake of their friendships. </p><p>They don't work together as much anymore, pulled away by the League (Wally), called to understudy a king (Garth), summoned for diplomacy (Donna), helping out on the wrong side of the tracks (Roy), setting up a legit business alongside the superhero-ing (Lilith), going strong and solo (Dick). The professional team has fallen to the wayside, slowly replaced by genuine friendships and relationships, tied together by red strings of fate far stronger than any of them can hope to break. </p><p>So they organise things. Sometimes it's at one of their places, sometimes it's at their favourite diner in New York, opposite where the Tower used to be, sometimes it's in a hidden cove off the shore of Sub Diego, sometimes it's just...wherever they are. It's always loose, informal, with open invitations to any of their other friends or partners, like when Kyle or Connor or Kori or any of the others drop in to hang out, and it's the highlight of Dick's week. </p><p>"You can invite Jason, you know," Dick says, tipping his head back over the edge of the sofa to look at Roy, who waves him off with a cheese fry in his mouth. </p><p>"Nah." </p><p>"Really, I don't mind." He <em>likes</em> Jason, and he sorely misses being able to hang out with his family, and this time they're organising a cinema trip, so it's not like Jason will be able to notice anything in the darkness. The Titans have always been adept at pronoun switches - hazards of working in the same field as Batman. </p><p>"Dick, c'mon, I'm not gonna do that." Roy reaches up to flick his nose, laughing when he winces. It's a topic they've discussed before, with Dick insisting he'd be fine with Jason, and with Roy constantly declining. </p><p>Dick's honestly torn between appreciating the gesture and wanting to strangle Roy. He <em>does</em> like having the guaranteed space to not have to hide, but he also does genuinely want Roy to feel comfortable inviting Jason over. It's a losing battle. Roy still doesn't invite Jason, and Dick doesn't grow the balls to ask Jason himself, so the Titans meet-ups happen without a single peep from his brother. </p><p>But he does miss Jason. Misses his whole family, and every day his apprehension cracks just a little bit more. </p><p>-- </p><p>Dick's never been good at writing scripts. Donna says that's what makes his pep talks <em>work</em>, that they're spur-of-the-moment. Genuine. His trust and belief in the team on full display, not sugarcoated or bandied about. </p><p>On the other hand, he has no idea how to word any form of coming out. It all sounds too serious, or too comical, or too <em>secretive</em>, revealing that he's been living under an entirely different identity for most of his life, and for <em>all</em> of his adult life, and he just doesn't know how Bruce will take it. Or the rest of them, for that matter, but he's hoping his brothers - and sister, now, gained somewhere in the last two years - are more youthfully open-minded. </p><p>He's not ready to do it yet, but he can feel the chasm between him and Jason growing wider with each passing day, with each phone call and each politely declined invitation, and Dick is so fucking sick of missing birthdays. He's stringing Jason along on this relationship, and he feels fucking awful about it, about pulling away from his family, and he just...can't cross that bridge. </p><p>Birthdays. Hospital visits. Holidays. Team-ups. Anything that Dick can do in-person just to socialise with his family, and he misses them so much it tears an ache into his chest. </p><p>Just down the hallway, Wally's sleeping peacefully. Dick loves him more than anything in the world, and he has no idea where Wally ever got the courage to come out to his parents at <em>fourteen</em>. Dick doesn't feel like he can do it at twenty-six, and he's leaps and bounds more confident than he ever was as a teenager. </p><p>He crumples up his latest shoddy attempt at a script and drags his hands down his face. Maybe he should just wing it. He's always been good at that. He's also never been this bone-deep terrified of rejection. He can roll with the punches, he can riff off of almost any banter, and coming out of the manor closet still feels like the most daunting villain he's ever faced. </p><p>He wants. He <em>will</em>. Just not yet. He's not ready, but...but he glances at the calendar, at the circled date for Tim's upcoming birthday, and he'll have to send a gift for this one with a phone call, but maybe this time next year, he could be making plans to visit in person. If Tim would still like that. If Dick hasn't accidentally pushed him away enough.</p><p>Dick would like that. And maybe... </p><p>He pushes the notepad away and stands up to stretch. </p><p>He'll wing it. He's always been good at that. </p>
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